Goodbye
by KrissyKat91
Summary: There comes a point where a guy has to say, "Enough. No more." Donald Duck has reached that point and, even though it hurts, he knows it's time to say goodbye.


_She's doing it again._

The thought rang through Donald's head like a gong as he watched his girlfriend hang off his cousin's arm, laughing at something Gladstone had said.

It had started out as a normal day. He'd rolled out of bed at around ten forty-five, done his bathroom business, and headed downstairs to make a late brunch. Afterwards he'd gone outside to check the mail, only to be confronted by an irate Daisy about having cancelled a date at a fancy restaurant the night before.

 _flashback_

 _"How dare you?!" Daisy screamed. "I've been looking forward to that date for a week!"_

 _"How dare_ I?! _I cancelled because I can't afford to eat at that restaurant! You_ know _that, and yet you still insisted on it! So how dare_ you?!"

 _"I don't want to hear any excuses!" She turned away with a fake sob. "You just don't care about me and my needs!"_

 _"'Excuses?! Needs?!' You—you—!"_

 _"And a very good day to you, cousin," a familiar, smarmy voice—accompanied by a familiar, smarmy face—interrupted. Donald gritted his teeth, choking back the response he wanted to make._

 _Daisy, on the other hand, immediately lit up. "Good morning, Gladstone."_

 _"Ah, Daisy." The blonde goose/duck hybrid bowed. "Forgive me. I didn't see you." His gaze darted briefly to his cousin, then refocused on the female duck. "But since you're here, I was wondering if you might like to have dinner with me this afternoon."_

 _"WHAT?!" Donald squawked._

 _"You see," Gladstone continued as if he had never been interrupted, "I have just acquired a free pass to a new restaurant downtown. I believe it's called 'Starlit Dreams'."_

 _Daisy gasped in delight. "Why, that's where Donald and I were going to eat last night!" She shot her boyfriend a sour look. "Until_ someone _cancelled the reservations at the last minute."_

 _"Well, I'd be happy to escort you there myself," here his gaze returned to Donald, "that is, if my dear cousin doesn't mind."_

 _"As a matter of fact I—"_

 _"Oh, he'll get over it. Take me home, Gladstone. I need to get ready."_

 _"As you wish. Why don't I take you shopping instead? A new restaurant requires a new dress."_

 _"Oh, thank you, Gladstone! See you later, Donald!"_

 _And the two started down the street, leaving a gaping, furious Donald Duck behind._

 _end flashback_

And that was how he'd gotten here, sitting on a bench in front of the biggest, priciest shopping center in Duckburg (owned by Scrooge McDuck, of course), hiding behind a newspaper and watching as Daisy got bargain after bargain simply because she was with Gladstone. As he watched, the duck began remembering all the other times his girlfriend had attached herself to his cousin just because he—Donald—made her mad, or wouldn't do what she wanted. It was a disturbingly long list.

 _She's doing it again!_ he repeated to himself, rage steadily rising. _Every time something doesn't go her way, every time I don't do as she says, she drops me like a hot tamale and latches onto Gladstone! And she—she just—!_

Something went _snap!_ inside him _,_ and all the anger drained away, leaving only weary sadness behind.

 _She just doesn't care._

Standing slowly, Donald folded his newspaper, tucked it under his arm, took a final glance at the pair in the window, and headed back to his car. It was time to take a hard look at his relationship with Daisy Duck, no matter how sick the thought made him.

* * *

 ** _BAM BAM BAM!_**

"Nephew!" Scrooge McDuck roared as he slammed his cane against the frame of Donald's front door. "I know ye're in there! Open up!"

He'd called his nephew's house earlier in the day to inform the younger duck of a job he had for him, but no one had picked up. So, after finishing up his own work, the old Scot had locked up the Money Bin and stormed down to demand answers.

"Ye cannae fool me, Donald! Yer car's in the drive! Open up, ye great lummox!"

Still no one answered. Fed up, Scrooge grabbed the doorknob, intending to force the door open, only to blink in surprise (and mild alarm) when it opened easily. The door hadn't even been latched.

"Donald?" he called as he walked inside. Still no response. Now very alarmed, Scrooge searched the first floor before heading up to the master bedroom, where he found his nephew face down on his bed, head buried in his arms.

"Donald?" he asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Donald flinched but didn't look up. "What's wrong, laddie?"

Without raising his head, Donald pointed to a spiral notebook on the floor next to the bed. Picking it up, Scrooge glanced at his nephew, then opened the notebook and began to read.

What followed was the most brutally honest analysis of a romantic relationship the elder duck had ever laid eyes on. All the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the good times and the bad times were laid out on the lined pages—most in great detail, though some were simply labeled "extenuating circumstances"—starting from a decade prior and ending at just that morning. The bad list was _far_ longer than the good list, and Scrooge couldn't help but wince every time his own name came up in conjunction with an incident.

Finally he closed the notebook. Looking at his miserable nephew, Scrooge found himself at a loss for words. What could you say to someone who, in writing that list, had clearly been looking for a reason to hold on to his relationship with his girlfriend, and had failed?

"Donald—", he started, laying a hand on his shoulder, then "wakked" in surprise when the younger duck suddenly twisted around and, moving faster than the old Scot knew he could, threw himself at his uncle, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his shoulder. Scrooge went rigid, then relaxed with a sigh. Donald wasn't one to seek out a hug for comfort, especially from his crotchety old uncle. That he was looking for one now said a lot about his emotional state, and something told Scrooge that pushing him away would be the worst thing he could do.

"I don't know what to do, Uncle Scrooge!" he moaned. "I've been dating Daisy for ten years, but I can't—I can't—not again—" His voice broke, and Scrooge felt something warm and wet soak into his sleeve.

"I dinnae know what tae tell ye, Donald," he said, awkwardly patting him on the back. "Ye know my only real attempt at romance… dinnae work out too well. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for the involvement I've played in all this."

"'S'okay," he muttered. He didn't say he didn't blame him—from that list he clearly did—but he also blamed the boys, Gladstone, Daisy and, yes, even himself, so Scrooge didn't take it personally.

Finally Donald pulled back, looking embarrassed. "Sorry I got your coat wet."

"Bah, it'll dry. Now as I said, I cannae give much advice from a romantic standpoint, but if ye want a businessman's perspective," he hesitated, then plowed on, " when a partnership between two companies gets tae be a problem instead of a profit, and cannae be fixed no matter what ye try, it's usually best tae… dissolve the partnership."

"…Yeah, you're right," Donald sighed after a moment of blankly staring into space. "I should probably do it before the boys get home from school, though. I'd rather they didn't see it."

"Do ye want me to come?"

"You gonna charge me?" the younger duck asked, some of his usual fire returning to his eyes.

The old Scot snorted. "Nah. Ye'll get my valuable time for free for once. But dinnae get used to it."

Donald smiled a little, then it faded. "Looking back, I think this was a long time coming. I was just too stubborn, or maybe too stupid, to see it."

"Love makes fools of the wisest men, nephew," Scrooge said, bill curling into a smirk. "Tis one of the reasons I've ne'er dated nor married, myself."

"And here I thought you were waiting for Goldie."

* * *

The few people working in their front yards all shot to their feet in alarm as the door to the house of Donald Duck—known for being both a social menace and the local jack-of-all-trades—slammed open, and the duck in question nearly flew down the street as Scrooge McDuck, the Richest Duck in the World, chased after him, swinging his cane and bellowing incoherently. Later, when questioned by the police over this week's quota of property damage, more than one of them commented that "the public nuisance" was laughing rather than screaming, and that "the old skinflint" looked more embarrassed than angry for once.

* * *

 _I can do this,_ Donald thought, standing on Daisy's front porch. Glancing over his shoulder at his uncle, he received a supporting nod. _I_ ** _have_** _to do this._

Squaring his shoulders, he rang the doorbell. Footsteps hurried to the door, it was flung open, and there stood Daisy, smiling. Of course, once she registered who was standing before her, her smile morphed into a scowl.

"What do _you_ want?" she snapped, obviously not having noticed Scrooge.

"We need to talk," he stated with more confidence than he felt.

"I have nothing to say to you." She tried to slam the door, only to squeak in surprise when a cane rammed itself between the door and the doorjamb.

"Tha's fine, lass," Scrooge said, a shark's grin on his face. "Donald is the one who'll be doing the talking. All ye have tae do is listen."

Daisy gave him a wide-eyed look, not at all used to having _that_ particular expression directed at _her,_ before stepping aside and letting the other ducks in. Leading them to her living room, she turned and looked at Donald. "Make it quick," she said stiffly. "Gladstone will be here in a few minutes."

Feeling Scrooge's hand briefly grip his shoulder, Donald took a deep breath. "Daisy," he started, "this is not an easy thing to say. I've been running it through my head all day and I can't think of a gentle way to put it so I'm just gonna say it." Looking her dead in the eyes, he said, "Daisy Duck, it's over."

"What are you talking about, Donald?" Daisy asked, brow furrowed. "What's over?"

"This. Us. We're through. Finished. To put it plainly, I'm breaking up with you."

For a long moment Daisy just stared at him, gaping a little, then she let out a strained laugh. "That-that's a joke, right? You're just playing a prank on me, aren't you? It-it's not very funny."

"It's no joke. I can't do it anymore! You drop me for Gladstone every time you don't get your way, and I'm sick of it!"

"…But—but I didn't—I wasn't serious abou—"

All the rage from that morning briefly came roaring back to the surface. "YES YOU WERE!" he screamed, then slumped as it once again drained away. "You always are. This has been going on for years and I'm just—I'm just tired of it." Inhale, exhale. "I don't think you love me anymore, Daisy. I don't think you have for a long time."

Daisy shook her head in denial. "That's not true! I do love—"

"And in all honesty," he interrupted, voice dropping to a whisper, "in total, absolute honesty… I don't think I love you anymore, either." As the words that had been roiling in his subconscious since that morning were finally admitted, Donald felt an immense weight lift off his shoulders, and as a ringing silence filled the room, he wondered if Daisy could tell that Scrooge's hand on his back was the only thing keeping him from collapsing out of sheer relief.

"Erm, am I interrupting something?"

The three ducks in the room turned at the sound of the voice. Gladstone Gander was hovering in the entryway, looking like he wasn't sure whether to come all the way in or turn around and power walk back out the door.

"The front door wasn't shut," he said in explanation, eying the occupants of the room warily. "It opened when I knocked. Is… is something wrong?"

Half surprised that the sight of his cousin wasn't inspiring fury for once, Donald shook his head. "No, Gladstone. Nothing's wrong. You've won, that's all." He started towards the doorway, brushing past the blonde as he did. "If you want Daisy, go for it. I'm done with all of this."

"Wait, what?" Gladstone stared at his cousin's retreating back in bewilderment. "What are you done with? Uncle Scrooge, what's going on?"

"Just as he said, Gladstone," Donald heard his uncle respond. "Ye'll have nae more competition for Daisy from Donald. As he said, ye've won."

Slumped against the 313, the younger duck watched as Scrooge shut the door, cutting off the sound of Gladstone asking a quietly crying Daisy what had happened.

"Can you drive, Uncle Scrooge?" he asked quietly. "I don't think I could steer a tricycle right now."

"Aye. Let's get ye home, nephew. Ye still have tae tell the boys about all this."

"Oh, joy," Donald grumbled. "That'll be fun."


End file.
